
It is 5:10pm. I am about to go on for my solo show. I have done this show before, but not in this space and have never done the whole show in this space as well.
I go on and the lights come up a second or two later than I would have liked, but it’s too late to dwell. The sound cue is happening. There are about ten people in the audience and I can see my friend Basil assisting the technician, who is named Ronny.
I start another monologue and when I stand up, the lights are supposed to change. I stood up. The lights changed. I am now standing in total darkness. Well, that’s the wrong cue, I think to myself. A few moments, I am still in the dark. In frustration, I clap my hands twice loudly. A second and a half later, I am in the correct light. I muttered an ad lib, “Maldito fucking Clapper.” Some people laugh as I hear, “Clap on. Clap off. Clap on, clap off. The Clapper” in my head.
The theater’s office is behind the seats. Normally, they shut off the phones so it won’t ring during a performance. Not this time, however. In the middle of a monologue, the phone rings. And rings. And rings. Loudly. The guy from the theater runs back to get it and somehow I have the sense to say, “ Don’t worry. La negra is going to get that.” (When in doubt, sprinkle your English with another language like English or Yiddish. It’s always funny.) People laughed and I got some applause.
I could have done the performance a whole lot better (to me, all the characters sounded the same), but I was happy to have made it through the ordeal. One more performance to go in this space. Let’s see what happens.